


feelings i long for

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: (kind of), ... okay so -very loose- xianxia, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Xianxia, inspired by tian guan ci fu/heaven official's blessing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: The God of Hope won't leave the Wings of Despair alone.
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	feelings i long for

**Author's Note:**

> So it took me 4 days to binge-read tgcf (folks, how do I say this, I'm so enamored, it's the story I'd dream of writing if I had the skills to write like that), then about 3 hours after reading it I went "what if chrom/grima though," and then I wrote this fic in 2 days. 
> 
> Uhhh so if you haven't read tgcf, basically there are... humans, like normal. And then humans can ascend and become gods (martial gods fight; civil - also translated as literature - gods... write things??? Do paperwork??? Debate sometimes??? I guess??? Anyway, in tgcf, the number one civil god's work was basically the only reason the gods got anything done). Then you also have ghosts, who are humans who died but stuck around because they had unfinished business, pretty much. Ghosts have different ranks depending on how powerful they are, but for this fic, you just need to know that the most powerful ones are Supremes.
> 
> I... admittedly don't really know anything about the conventions of the xianxia genre... and tbh I wasn't exactly reading tgcf with a strict eye for the "rules of the world" so to speak, so... apologies if there are any glaring errors obvious to anyone who knows what they're talking about
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic! I drew the title from [unsaid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSBkoEWDTEk) by flor, which has been on my chrom/grima playlist for a long time.

There is one name that strikes fear into all the officials of heaven.

Grima. The Fell Dragon. The Breath of Ruin, and the Wings of Despair. The Supreme ghost king known for devastating all three realms—human, god, and ghost—alike. No one is safe from his world-destroying breath. Gods have tried to put an end to him. Humans have ascended trying to slay him. Ghosts have even been known to whisper prayers in the hopes that someone with heavenly might will one day succeed against their terrible overlord.

It is hopeless. There is nothing anyone can do.

Because Grima himself knows hopelessness, knows futility, knows utter misery that these naive beings could never fathom. Imagine being born just to be tortured! Living in agony from the moment of your existence just so some twisted alchemist could struggle vainly to bring back a soul that had already moved on! Imagine growing up with no relief, no happiness, not even a glimmer of hope! Imagine that still, somehow, by chance, you discovered an opportunity to escape this hell, only to have it ripped away from you by the meddling actions of one callous human king, a king who had the gall to fucking _ascend to heaven_ for it! 

Because of that damned Naga, Grima suffered until his miserable end at the hands of his madman of a father, who never once ceased his attempts to create the impossible. Even then there was no relief for him! His resentment anchored him to the world, along with all the other vengeful spirits of his father’s victims. All of them were trapped. Until Grima, the strongest of them all, began to feed.

Grima took up the resentment of thousands of wasted lives, and when he was full, he devoured the man who had done this to all of them. Then, for a thousand years, he waited. Not patiently, never calmly, but he waited those torturous years until the seal that bound him deteriorated just enough, just enough for him to break out.

And then! Naga, that damnable god, sealed him away again! To be sent back to the freezing darkness just when he thought he was free, of course Grima’s hatred only grew. And so his form grew stronger to accommodate it.

Thus, after another thousand years, a Supreme-ranked ghost let himself loose upon the world. But the story does not end there, because Grima is very crafty, and he knows well how to bide his time.

He took on the form of a mortal, a body crafted so perfectly that no one could tell there was anything inhuman about it, and he blended in with humanity. He studied, and he observed, and there came a day where his knowledge and wisdom was unparalleled. He played advisor to kings, and high priests, and even gods approached him in disguise to hear his counsel. 

And so one day, just as he had planned, he ascended as Robin, the God of Strategy!

If you asked the other heavenly officials whether a ghost could ever ascend, they would certainly tell you that such a thing would be impossible. But in fact, it is the easiest thing ever! Those who are fated to ascend do so. It is not the will of the gods, but of something greater. And Grima was always made for godhood. If that accursed Naga hadn’t trapped him with a despicable alchemist, he would have been here ages ago!

But Grima doesn’t care to ponder too deeply what might have been if he had ascended back then. Perhaps he would have become like the rest of the lazy, spoiled heavenly officials, and he would have lived docilely until the day every stupid human forgot his name. If that is the best he could have done, then he is glad for the millennia of pain and darkness that shaped him into what he is now. A demon, but better that than a complacent coward!

Now that he’s in heaven, Grima has no intention of just sitting around and collecting gifts. No, his goal is simple and obvious. The one who made him suffer again and again, contemptible Naga, is currently the number one martial god, the Heavenly Martial Emperor! She is right within his grasp, and soon she will be so miserable that she will wish that _she_ was sealed away in darkness.

It does not matter how long it takes. Grima’s will is indomitable. There is nothing he cannot endure. He will take what he wants, in the end.

Heaven has no idea what is coming for it.

* * *

It only takes a few decades for Grima to become the number one civil god in heaven. This is in part because humans pray to the God of Strategy for everything. From “let me win this pointless battle” to “let me impress this idiot I like,” everyone in need of a plan prays to the god Robin.

Usually, he tells them to go read a goddamn book. Most of the answers they seek could be found if they’d only look to themselves instead of a distant god above.

The bigger reason for his high position, Grima is sure, is that he’s the only one in heaven competent to run it.

Seriously, before his ascension, it was Naga herself doing all the important work! The civil gods should have been ashamed of themselves!

Of course, Grima doesn’t appreciate the way Naga immediately dumped everything on him as soon as he proved himself capable, but it’s not like he expected anything better from someone like her.

She’s different from the first time he met her… For one, it’s been a long time since she’s been primarily known as the divine dragon “king,” though her worshippers have documented her history so well that she can still take that form when she pleases. (Grima can pull that trick, too. The God of Strategy is male or female as suits the tactic. But Grima’s preferred form is whatever Naga is not, so here in heaven, he sticks to a facade of masculinity.) Moreover, despite being a martial god, it apparently takes a truly severe threat to draw her into a fight. But it doesn’t matter to Grima whether she’s a king running into battle or a goddess preaching about peace; her spirit is stained at its core, and Grima knows it. She is ruthless, and she gets rid of all who are in her way.

It was bad enough when he thought it was just him she had screwed over, but no, after going through and organizing heaven’s numerous files, it turns out he’s just the most _egregious_ example, never having wronged her to begin with. But even her own friends aren’t exempt from her viciousness! Asking around, it’s clear that there are no gods left who knew Mila and Duma personally, and only a few recognize the names, but if they’d just read a little history every once in a while, Naga’s crimes are documented! She banished her friends for destroying a country she controlled, even though the humans there were going out of control, to the point that Duma was receiving prayers to do something about it. When Naga did not take care of the problem, he had to take matters into his own hands. What was so improper about that? And yet he was stripped of his spiritual power and made to live as a mortal, and his sister as well for supporting him, all at Naga’s whim.

All of this, and hardly anyone knows, and those who do don’t care!

If the humans knew how little the gods above them truly thought of others, would they stop praying?

But Grima’s heart is steeled enough to accept the truth. Humans would continue praying. The gods need prayers to further their power, and humans need gods to lend them power. The selfishness of one benefits the other, and so the cycle will continue eternally.

In the end, gods, humans, and ghosts are all the same despicable creatures.

It once made Grima sad, and then sick, but now it is like a raindrop in the ocean of despair he carries with him, and hypocrite he may be, but he can’t say he cares anymore either.

And so he settles into his role in heaven, becoming the best among them, and despite mostly keeping to himself (or perhaps because of it), no one ever suspects that he hates everyone there.

* * *

Everyone knows Grima (well, Robin), but everyone also knows not to bother him unless there is important business to be done. (As a practical matter, he is routinely inundated with trivial matters, because every god believes that they are inherently extremely important, but there is not yet anything he can do about that except ignore them when their requests are inane.)

Unfortunately, there is a newly ascended martial god who did not get the memo.

His name is Chrom, and he is the God of Hope. Apparently, his country was on the brink of collapse after facing numerous wars with the same enemy for centuries. Just when it seemed like the enemy was going to finally emerge victorious, things turned around. Chrom, through sheer tenacity, dragged his army from the brink of ruin and soundly defeated the enemy, putting the conflict to an end at last (at least until the next time one of the two countries feels like starting more shit, anyway). Now he’s a symbol of hope and people pray to him.

Grima hates him even before he meets him. He, the Wings of Despair, versus this pathetic God of Hope? If only the timing weren’t inconvenient, he’d hop down to the human realm and stir up a little despair just to make trouble for him. Hope dies so quickly of asphyxiation. Even without Grima’s influence, he gives this new god a couple of centuries tops before he’s cursed and forgotten.

And Chrom is actually even more pathetic in person.

The first time he meets Grima, he drops to his knees.

“It’s an honor to meet you, my lord,” he says, and Grima remembers that, ah, right, this idiot led an army. Of course he would have prayed to the God of Strategy.

“Oh, get up,” Grima says dismissively. “You know I didn’t really help you, right? When it comes to wars, there’s not much I can do. You pray to me for guidance, the other side prays to me for guidance, civilians pray to me to ask how they can get out of the situation they’re now in. If I answered everyone’s prayers, they would all just cancel out.”

“You did help me, though,” Chrom says. Standing up, he smiles. “You came to me in a dream.”

“I did?” Well, there are a lot of blue-haired lords running around. He can’t be expected to remember them all. There must have been an extremely obvious solution to Chrom’s problem. “Did I throw a book at your head?”

“You did!” Chrom seems unreasonably delighted. Grima might have hit him too hard. “Once I read the book, I discovered the exact strategy I needed to get my men through the next battle.”

Well, no shit. Grima wouldn’t have wasted one of his books if it didn’t have useful information. If he were wrong, he’d never get any worshippers.

“I would have never won the war if it weren’t for you,” Chrom continues. Even though he’s a martial god, there’s something gentle in his eyes. It’s something Naga would appreciate, so it puts Grima on edge. “So I guess when you think about it, you’re the reason I became a god.”

“What?” The word slips out in Grima’s surprise. “That’s…”

It’s ridiculous. Not to mention the height of irony. How could he, the Supreme known for bringing despair and ruin, create an embodiment of hope, even accidentally?

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” Chrom insists, though he laughs as well. “Ah… Robin… I’m just so happy I get to hear you once again.”

Grima can’t stop laughing. Chrom sure jumped to a casual form of address quickly. Not that Grima actually cares whether he’s addressed by title or by name; it’s all fake, after all. But it’s so funny. Usually gods don’t kneel before other gods, no matter who they used to worship. And they always address everyone by title, that way they can mask the true contempt they feel for each other. The idiot is going to piss someone off sooner or later if he doesn’t learn some etiquette quickly.

“Well, Chrom, if you liked that book I gave you, you’re going to love this,” Grima says, picking up a heavy text on his desk and slamming it down closer to Chrom. “It’s heaven’s unofficial handbook. I prepared all the material myself. Read it, and you’ll learn something.”

In fact, nobody has ever read the damn thing except Grima (that’s why he’s forced to call it “unofficial”). Instead, newly-ascended and well-established gods alike come to him for answers that they could have easily discovered themselves. They’re as awful as humans in that regard. Only worse, because gods rarely pay him for his trouble.

“Robin, you’re amazing!” Grima hopes Chrom learns how to get the heavenly light he’s putting in his smile under control soon. “Seriously, what would I do without you?”

No, really, Grima thinks all that heavenly light might be starting to scorch him. He’s not sure what else this horrible feeling in his chest could be.

“Alright, now get out,” he says, shooing Chrom out of his palace. “You have everything you need now.”

So there’s no need for Chrom to come back any time soon, and Grima should be safe from any spiritual power leakage.

* * *

It actually takes the pathetic, useless God of Hope less than a week to come back!

“Robin!” the idiot greets, although fortunately he does seem to have learned how not to radiate his power with his smile. 

“Chrom.” Grima bites back his irritation. “Don’t you have prayers to answer? Don’t let them pile up. I’ve seen many new gods get overwhelmed.”

“It’s not so hard for me,” Chrom says. “People praying for hope don’t need much. Just a sign, any sign, can keep them going. And besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

Oh, great. Here it comes. A stupid question.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks as dread creeps over him.

“I was setting up my private communication array,” Chrom says, “and I wanted to know what the password to yours is.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Like hell he’s letting anyone pester him privately!

“Ah, I don’t really give that out…” Grima says, pretending to be nervous. “Sorry, it’s just… I’m very busy, and if everyone in heaven started trying to talk to me at once, well…”

Well, he’d have to rip their fucking heads off!

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t think about that,” Chrom says. Quickly, he continues. “The handbook does say that I should give you mine, though. In case something comes up. Er… right?”

Grima is staring at him a little blankly, but that’s because he can barely process what was just said.

“You… read it?” 

There are over three thousand pages in it. Nobody reads it.

“Not every word of it, of course,” Chrom says.

Of course. 

“But I was able to resolve every difficulty I ran into by just flipping through the index and finding the right page,” Chrom continues. “It’s truly incredible. Did it take you centuries to write?”

“A couple of years,” Grima mutters.

The handbook wasn’t that difficult to prepare. Certainly, there is nothing miraculous about it. The miracle is… The miracle is that someone actually cared to use it for its intended purpose!

(He has no respect for the gods who took a copy just to use as a footstool or a stepladder. Don’t pick it up in the first place if you have no intention of even skimming it!)

“You work fast,” Chrom says. “I’m sure everyone appreciates it. I know it’s been a lifesaver for me.”

No one appreciates it. He works to make his own job easier, not because anyone is congratulating him. And yet, Chrom’s words…

What the fuck is wrong with him. It feels like there’s something crawling in his throat. Is Chrom doing this to him? Did he somehow figure out that Grima is actually a Supreme and decide to start slowly poisoning him with his power?

“Er, so…” Chrom smiles. “My password…?”

No, there’s no way a new god would figure him out so quickly and then fake such a cheerful personality. 

“Right.” Grima shakes his head. “Go ahead.”

“Let’s create a peaceful world,” Chrom says.

“… That will work,” Grima says

Sentiments like that sicken him, but he almost wants to laugh as well. He’ll have to say this every time he needs to connect to Chrom, and isn’t that hilarious? He’d happily destroy all three realms; bonus if doing so would conveniently drive Naga wild at the same time. But no, let’s talk about peace with the Fell Dragon. 

He can imagine a peaceful world. It would be the opposite of the one they all currently inhabit.

“See, it’s peaceful because it’s private,” Chrom starts to explain. “Away from the public array, where there’s more room for chaos…”

“I get it,” Grima says. Chrom clearly thinks he’s being clever, but explaining it just makes him look… foolish…

An odd sensation pulses in Grima’s chest again. What the hell. He doesn’t know what’s happening, which is a terrible problem for someone who is supposed to know everything.

It isn’t painful (what could hurt him at this point?), but he feels like he could choke at any moment.

“I’ll contact you later and make sure it functions properly,” he says softly.

“Alright,” Chrom says. He seems to think something of Grima’s quiet turn, because his expression softens. “I know you have a lot of work to do. I’ll let you get back to it. I should be getting back to work, too.”

Grima nods. Thank fuck Chrom is leaving. If there’s something going wrong with Grima’s body, he needs to fix it immediately.

But ultimately, no matter how he prods at his body, he can’t replicate the experience.

* * *

Grima does not like anyone. Grima, in fact, hates everyone. Some people are more useful than others, and some people are easier to tolerate than others, but none of them are desired additions to his existence.

Keeping that in mind, if he _had_ to choose someone to spend time with (and it couldn’t be Naga for the purpose of torturing her), he would certainly pick Chrom.

Chrom is both useful and fairly tolerable. Though it takes Grima a few years to understand that Chrom hangs around him not for any particular benefit but rather because he inexplicably finds Grima’s company engaging, once Grima stops anticipating subterfuge, he finds that Chrom is actually a decent assistant.

The idea of a martial god helping a stuffy old civil god is hilarious in itself. Grima isn’t stupid, and he can tell that Chrom is secretly still a little devoted to the God of Strategy, but that only makes the whole thing funnier. A century passes, and Chrom still treats every word out of Grima’s mouth like it holds the key to his next victory.

Grima soon figures out why.

It’s a very pathetic story, but Grima can’t avoid learning it. Chrom spends too much time with him, and unlike Grima, he does not guard himself, his mind, or his history. People like that don’t have to be tricked into spilling their secrets; they give them away.

“I never thought I’d be doing this kind of work,” Chrom answers one day to a question along the lines of: why the fuck is he always helping Grima with paperwork when he could be chopping people into pieces with his sword or something. “I’ve only ever been good at fighting. My younger sister was best at medicine, and my older sister was best with words…”

Grima has a feeling that this is heading into territory he doesn’t want to tread into, and he tries to avoid the situation. Really.

“Sisters…” he murmurs. “They didn’t ascend.”

What he meant was, alright, they didn’t ascend, so you should just forget about them now.

“My younger sister would have rather died than live forever in such a formal place,” Chrom says. “My older sister, though… She would have ascended. I’m sure of it. As a civil god, of course. She couldn’t stand violence. That’s why… when they sent assassins after her, and she was found all alone, she didn’t stand a chance.”

Grima grimaces. Literally every martial god has some kind of tragic death haunting them. Such is the nature of the battlefields they come from. The ones who forget the details of their pasts tend to be happier.

… But so what? Why should he care? And who is he to tell Chrom to be happier, anyway? He’d kill anyone who told _him_ to forget about his pain.

“This might sound funny coming from the God of Hope, but I really didn’t have any hope back then,” Chrom continues. “Here I was with a war on my hands from the second I came to power. It seemed impossible to win. And I thought, without my sister… with a ruler like me instead… maybe we would be better off if I surrendered, anyway.”

Grima shakes his head. Not that he cares about this sort of thing, but Chrom obviously does. And from what he’s read of that war, if Chrom had surrendered, all of his people would have been slaughtered.

“Yes, you would say that,” Chrom says, understanding Grima as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. “That was when I prayed to you. A strategy, any strategy, that would save my people.”

Grima stills. Dawning horror creeps up his spine. But it was so insignificant to him that he doesn’t even remember!

“In truth, the strategy in that book was simple. So simple that I could have thought of it myself if I hadn’t been so…” Chrom shakes his head. “But that wasn’t the point. Not really. At that time, I thought myself alone. All I needed, and what I got, was proof that I wasn’t.”

Grima, still frozen, wishes he could look away. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell Chrom that he is wrong, to say that he is alone, that everyone is truly alone, that he must harden his heart, that Grima never meant to give him false hope.

False hope to the God of Hope. Doesn’t that mean Grima really has perpetrated another fraud on heaven?

 _Don’t trust me,_ is what he wants to say, but all that escapes him is a heavy breath.

He already sees in Chrom’s gleaming eyes that it is too late.

And what does Grima care, actually, if Chrom gets hurt? Grima never asked him to hang around him like a devotee. Grima is made of hatred and misery, and Chrom has no business being near him. Technically, Chrom has no business being in heaven at all. He should have died alone with no “Robin” there to answer his desperate pleas.

But it is too late for Grima, too. He is already clutching at Chrom’s shoulders, dragging the pathetic martial god into his embrace.

For how could he abandon this thing of his creation?

* * *

The other gods laugh and say that Chrom is Grima’s only friend. This is untrue. Grima does not like anyone. He does not have friends. 

But they are correct that Chrom is Grima’s. 

He no longer tries to keep Chrom at a distance. He lets him assist him whenever he wants. He even gives him the password to his communication array.

And the joy that Chrom radiates because of all of this… truly makes Grima sick.

He still doesn’t understand the sensations that occasionally grip him, but he knows their cause. It is when Chrom is at his happiest that Grima finds it hardest to breathe.

It has been like this since the day they met. Perhaps it is some quirk of fate, or perhaps it is because heaven was not designed to cater to Supremes, or perhaps it is because all of Chrom’s hope is based on a fluke, or perhaps it is because despair and hope are polar opposites, but Chrom’s power affects him so badly that, were he not claiming Chrom for his own, he would have to figure out a way to first get rid of him before attacking Naga.

Fortunately, that will not be necessary. And soon, Chrom will no longer be happy, so Grima will not be plagued by his bizarre symptoms any longer.

Suddenly, he has a fleeting thought that he might miss them. How funny.

 _”Hey, Chrom,”_ he says into the martial god’s private array. _”I need something from the human realm and have to descend. Want to come with me?”_

Chrom is so trusting of him that he doesn’t even think to ask whether Naga approved of this little excursion.

 _”Of course! I’m always happy to help you!”_ is all Chrom foolishly replies.

* * *

“But… why…?” The pain in Chrom’s expression shouldn’t be having an effect on Grima, but it is. “Why are you doing this, Robin?”

“Because if I didn’t kidnap you, then you would have tried to stop me,” Grima says. “And then I still would have ended up having to tie you up. This way was more efficient.”

He knows that he is not answering the question Chrom was trying to ask. He wants to know why they are at a mountain, in the center of a horrible tempest, surrounded by ghosts and monsters wreaking havoc at the orders of the Fell Dragon, Grima. But it would take too long to explain from the beginning. Maybe after he brings down Naga and destroys heaven, then they can talk.

“Naga is fond of you,” Grima says. “Fond enough to come get you personally, as soon as she realizes I am responsible.”

“She’s fond of you, too,” Chrom says, still not getting it. “Robin…” 

In fact, Grima is now wondering if Chrom has ever understood anything in his life.

“Chrom, are you kidding me? I’m—”

“He is only Robin part-time,” a voice comes from behind him. “And he did not tell you that he is also the ghost king known as the Fell Dragon.”

“Naga,” Grima snarls, swirling around to face the object of his deepest hatred. “What a subdued entrance this time. No cavalcade? Didn’t feel like bringing lightning?”

“Grima,” Naga says coldly. “Let Chrom go. You want to fight me, and so I have come. Leave him out of this.”

“No,” Grima says. “How about this, the winner takes him home. Though if I get my way, you won’t have a home to take anyone back to, regardless.”

Naga regards him with an incredulous look.

“I see… So I wasn’t wrong…” She laughs. “You do care for him! Then why bring him, Grima? What happens if he gets hurt? Will you blame me for that, too?”

“If you’re at fault, yes!” Grima says.

“Or perhaps,” Naga continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “you are doing this because you do not know how else to go on, because you are afraid of how he will react if you do not hold him down.”

“What bullshit are you spouting now?” Grima exclaims. “I am doing this because I hate you! It is your time to suffer! I have waited long enough and will not lose to you this time!”

“Do you truly believe that I was unaware of you all this time? I have known of your plot from the start,” Naga says. “I hoped that if you had the power you wanted, if you had a position you liked, if you had _anything_ you cared for, then you would not do this _yet again._ But it is clear that I was wrong. Child of Thabes, I have wronged you, but you have done far worse! Do you think I will ever allow you to turn this world into your plaything?”

“Shut up!” Grima shouts. Child of Thabes, she calls him. He never wants to hear those words again! She admits that she has wronged him, yet bears no guilt! She doesn’t suffer, she doesn’t know suffering, she doesn’t care! “Why are we talking? Didn’t we say enough last time? I will make you die a thousand deaths, and it will still not be enough!”

He is so tired of waiting. He goes on the attack. Naga was stronger than him one thousand years ago, but no longer. In pure strength, they are equally matched, but in strategy, Grima is superior. In determination, Grima is superior. 

He can see the hatred in her eyes, but in pure, unadulterated loathing, Grima is far, far, superior.

But there is one variable he did not properly consider… Chrom.

How the _fuck_ did he get unbound? If it was Naga’s doing, he’s going to kill her an extra thousand times for her cruelty. 

“Robin, ah, Grima, please—” Chrom is suddenly in his way. “What’s the point in doing this? Even if you make her suffer, what happens? Would your suffering end? Would you be able to move on?”

“Never!” Grima screams. Hatred is his only purpose in this world. He _is_ hatred. He will never let it go. There is no moving on for him. Even gods die when they are forgotten. But he will continue on forever.

“Then why don’t you stop this?” Chrom asks. “Stop fighting! I will go home with you! Wherever that is… Wherever you are… I will go with you!”

Just as both Chrom’s joy and his pain do strange things to Grima, this expression too catches Grima in his chest. But damn it, this is no time for weakness!

“Get out of my way!” he demands. He tries to dodge around his damned idiot, but Chrom moves with him, blocking his movements.

“Do you want to die, too?” he screeches. Like Naga, Chrom can be killed again and again if that’s what it takes.

Chrom still refuses to move.

Grima thought he could not be any more furious. But this drives him over the edge.

“Fine!” 

But as he rushes forward, he hears a voice to his right.

“Grima!” Naga taunts. “Are you really going to harm the only person who has ever wanted to stand by your side?”

She… dares?

Grima’s vision goes red.

Power explodes out of him, but…

To tell the truth, he doesn’t know who or what he hits.

* * *

Grima wakes to an all too familiar darkness.

He opens his mouth to scream, but… why bother?

He’s failed again. Another thousand years of waiting, so what? He’s done it before.

He’s endured it twice already.

He’s…

He’s so tired…

He shivers a little. It’s always so cold. It’s…

Wait…

There is something next to him. And it’s warm.

“I see you’re awake now.”

“Chrom?” 

“I’m here.”

That isn’t right. That can’t be right.

“Did she banish you?” Grima asks, his fury rising. “Did you try to speak in my favor? You shouldn’t have. She hates—”

“I wasn’t banished,” Chrom says. And sure enough, he clasps his hands, and a tiny bit of heavenly light shines. Grima can see his face now. He’s smiling. “I told you I would stay with you.”

“You…” The feeling grips him again. “You really…?”

He wants to ask why, but he can’t form the words. What kind of fool seals himself in with a ghost for a thousand years of misery? 

“I could never leave you here alone,” Chrom says.

Grima chokes. He really does this time. Emotions that he can no longer refuse escape out of him, and he sobs. Is it really crying if he cannot remember how to form tears? 

Oh, what does it matter? It is all but crying, and Chrom holds him to his chest.

And as Grima breathes out the heavy weight of thousands of confessions he couldn’t make, something deep inside him sparks to life.

Grima has said before that hope dies easily, but that isn’t true. It’s the last thing to go. Only when you have absolutely nothing else left does it leave you, its fire having no further fuel. Once, thousands of years ago, he cried out for his father, hoping he could stop the pain. He cried out for Naga, hoping she could still hear him behind the seal. Even as a ghost, he still cried out for years, hating, but nevertheless hoping.

He has never felt a pain quite like this before. Why is hope returning to him? Worse than losing it once would be losing it once more.

But when he looks at Chrom, the god who chose the ghost who kidnapped him over his proper place in heaven, how can he possibly say he doesn’t believe in anything?

“Chrom,” he says softly. It is not the first time his voice has held affection, but it is the first time he dares to call it such. “Thank you.”

He has never worshipped any gods before. But perhaps he can devote himself to just one.

* * *

And so the saying goes: when you feel the wings of despair wrap around your heart, you must continue breathing. For without a doubt, hope is with you as well.


End file.
